


Take Care (of Him)

by Lizlemler



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: John is a Bit Not Good, M/M, Mycroft is in trouble, Post TFP, Sherlock Being a Good Brother, Spoilers for TFP, eventual Mystrade
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-31
Updated: 2018-05-28
Packaged: 2018-09-21 02:46:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 12,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9528467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lizlemler/pseuds/Lizlemler
Summary: Lestrade decides to look after Mycroft himself following the events of TFP.  Mycroft isn't okay.





	1. No Rest for the Weary

**Author's Note:**

> So here's my post TFP Mystrade. A popular theme to be sure (and we all know why, right?). If you're not sure, I've provided a convenient recap of THE SCENE that has inspired several fics already. I couldn't resist and this silly bunny wouldn't rest until I humored him.

_“I just spoke to your brother.”_

_“How is he?”_

_“He’s a bit shaken up that’s all, she didn’t hurt him, she just…locked him in her old cell.”_

_“What goes around comes around.”_

_“Gimme a moment boys.”_

_“Umm…Mycroft, make sure he’s looked after.  He’s not as strong as he thinks he is.”_

_“Yeah, I’ll take care of it.”_

_“Thanks Greg.”_

 

Mycroft had been home for only a short time before he found himself, without planning to, systematically checking every room in his home to ensure that there was no one hiding in wait.  He checked every exterior window, making sure each one was double locked. He took his handgun with him.  After exiting each room, he closed the door firmly and activated the state-of-the-art electric locks (with built in backup power supply) using the app on his phone, written exclusively for his use alone.  Mycroft took his time, reducing the possibility of any unpleasant surprises to the slightest degree possible.  He hovered in his bedroom for a bit but decided there was no point trying for a little sleep yet.  He knew it would be a long time before he’d be able to relax enough. 

For a little while, he tried to focus on work, going though emails that had gone unread while he’d been his sister’s prisoner while on that island.  He was far too distracted however to concentrate and in the end was obliged to contact Anthea in order to have her handle any issues that couldn’t wait, as well as clearing his schedule for at least the next few days. He knew that he would have to reveal to his parents the secret he had been keeping the next morning.  The fallout was likely to be intense and time consuming.

“I’ll take care of it sir.”  There was a pause, Anthea continued. “Sir, perhaps I should come over there…”she trailed off uncertainly.

Nonplussed, Mycroft asked, “Whatever for?”

“You’ve been through quite an ordeal sir.  Your brother told me that Eurus tried to manipulate him into choosing between you and John Watson.”  There was another pause before she added, “Sherlock said you tried to goad him in to shooting you.  To make it easier.”

Sighing, Mycroft grumbled. “Sherlock should learn to be more circumspect.”

“Yes sir.”  After another awkward pause Anthea said, “Mr. Holmes, I-“

“Yes?”

“I’m so sorry.  And I’m really glad you’re still with us.”

“Thank you Anthea.”

“I could be there in twenty minutes.  I...I’d rather you weren’t alone just now.”   The hesitation in her voice was so uncharacteristic, it surprised him more than her offer to stay with him. 

Mycroft had to admit he was touched.  Although he had an extremely close working relationship with his second in command, it rarely crossed the line in to personal areas.  But he couldn’t bear the idea of having to deal with another person walking on eggshells around him, looking at him, knowing what he’d done.  He needed more time to prepare himself for that. 

“Sir?  Are you there?”

He cleared his throat to try to banish the lump that had formed.  “Thank you, but that won’t be necessary.  I’m just about to turn in,” he lied easily, “get some much needed rest.  Which you should do as well.  It’s been a long couple of days.  I just needed to make sure everything is set for the next few days first. Could you please get in touch with my parents this morning and ask them to meet me here? Please send a car for them as well.”

“Certainly, sir.  What time shall I say?”

“Eleven.  Please arrange for a delivery of groceries and a small prepared brunch for 10:45.”

“I’ll take care of it.  Please don’t hesitate to call if you need anything.  Anything at all.”

“I will.  I hope you know how much I appreciate everything you do for me.  How greatly I depend on you.”

“Thank you Mr. Holmes.  I do know, but it’s nice to hear.”

“Anthea, I thinks it’s high time you call me by my given name when it’s just the two of us, as is often the case.  As long as you don’t ever shorten it in any way, I see no reason why you shouldn’t.”

“Thank you Mycroft.  I’d like that.”

“I meant what I said.  I couldn’t manage half as much without you.”

“In that case, shall I arrange a pay rise as well?”  He could hear the slightly teasing quality in her voice and was relieved that the awkwardness had passed at least.

“I shall give it my most careful consideration,” he replied glibly.

“Please take care of yourself Mycroft.”  Her concern for his wellbeing was clear.

“I shall do my best.  I’ll speak to you in the morning.”  Ending the call, Mycroft was surprised to realize he actually felt better.  Not a lot, but he’d take what he could get.  The whole experience had been terrifying and quite humbling.  He spent the next half hour or so rethinking his stance on sentiment only being found on the losing side. This view clearly needed serious revision.  Like many things in his life, Mycroft better understood now how almost anything could become a double-edge sword if taken to extremes.  It would be the height of irony if he was actually made weaker by his solitude.

As he drifted into the kitchen to make a small pot of tea, he followed this line of thought and came to the conclusion that his avoidance of human connection, while making him less vulnerable in many ways, also resulted in making him less able to cope with the truth about his youngest sibling.  Perhaps this is why, when his phone rang a few minutes later as he sipped his tea, and he saw who was calling, he did not hesitate to answer.

“Hello Inspector.”

“Mycroft!  You’re awake.  That’s good.”  Lestrade sounded a bit off. 

“Is it?”

“Ummm…you’re home, right?”

“Yes.”

“Excellent.  Could you open the front door please?”

“The door,” he repeated, curious.

“Yes, the door.”

“Just a moment.”  Moving towards the front hall, Mycroft opened the security app on his phone and brought up the feed from the camera above the front entrance, to see the DI waiting outside his home.  Entering his brand new security code as he approached the foyer, he registered surprise, bewilderment and pleasure at this development in equal measures. Opening the door, he took in the sight of Gregory Lestrade standing under the small portico holding two large carry bags.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Into The Lion's Den

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg beards the lion in his den. He lays down the law (pun intended) and makes a confession.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mind the tags. Spoilers for TFP.

_“Ummm…you’re home, right?”_

_“Yes.”_

_“Excellent.  Could you open the front door please?”_

_“The door,” he repeated, curious._

_“Yes, the door.”_

_“Just a moment.”  Moving towards the front hall, Mycroft opened the security app on his phone and brought up the feed from the camera above the front entrance, to see the DI waiting outside his home.  Entering his brand new security code as he approached the foyer, he registered surprise, bewilderment and pleasure at this development in equal measures. Opening the door, he took in the sight of Gregory Lestrade standing under the small portico holding two large carry bags._

“Hey!  Thanks, I’ve got a full load here.”

Mycroft stood aside wordlessly and Greg stepped through the door.  “Kitchen’s back this way, yeah?”  The silver haired detective continued with his burden towards the back of the house.  Following him, intrigued, Mycroft took note of the full backpack dangling from one shoulder.  He stopped in the wide doorway as Greg hefted the carry bags on to the counter, then turned to him.  “Sorry.  Would have been here sooner but I thought you might need a few things.” 

Mycroft blinked.  “A _few_ things?”

“Okay, it’s more than a few things but I figured it couldn’t hurt.”  Greg shimmied the backpack off and set it on one of the benches by the small, informal table by the large window overlooking the back garden.  “Where can I find something to make coffee?”

Mycroft used the few moments it took to retrieve the scarcely used cafetiere from a cupboard to get the wayward thoughts engendered by Greg’s presence, not to mention that delightful shimmy, under control.  Setting it on the counter top, he felt compelled to ask, “Please don’t take this the wrong way Inspector, but why are you here…with a week’s worth of groceries?”

Lestrade continued to remove items from the bags silently until they were empty.  Folding them carefully, he turned to the politician and leaned back against the counter, his hands stuffed in his pockets.  Staring at the floor, he began speaking softly, his brow creased and his eyes troubled.  “I know what happened on that island.  After what you’ve been through, I’m not prepared to let you rattle around this place alone with nothing but your thoughts.  Even if Sherlock hadn’t asked me to look after you, I’d still be here.  I know it’s terribly presumptuous of me, but I don’t care.  You’re my friend Mycroft and I take care of my friends when they’re hurting.  Not even you could be unaffected after everything that happened, so no pretending you’re fine on your own.”  Greg finally looked at the younger man directly.  “The groceries are how my family deal with hard times.  We cook and we eat.  Helps to keep busy and keep your strength up.  So here’s what’s going to happen now.  I’m going to make some coffee and start a few simple dishes, and you’re going to go take a hot shower and then put on something comfortable.  Doesn’t have to be pajamas unless you’re okay with that, but no bespoke suits and _no tie_.  Then you’re gonna get in bed and I’m going to bring you something to eat.  And you _will_ eat every bite, even if I have to feed you myself.  But don’t worry, you’ll love it.  After that, I think you should probably try to get some sleep if at all possible.”

The rapid blinking had resumed at the beginning of this remarkable declaration, to be replaced by a glassy stare that continued after the end of Greg’s pronouncement.  Mycroft was motionless for so long, Greg began to worry that he’d broken him. The copper approached his friend cautiously.  “Mycroft?”

For one of the first times in his adult life, Mycroft responded emotionally.  He closed his eyes for a few moments, cataloging everything he was feeling.  Although the crushing guilt and regret were still there, now it was softened somewhat by shock, relief and gratitude.  The knowledge that he didn’t have to go through this alone was overwhelming.  He felt Greg step in front of him.  “Jesus Myc, say something, please.”  A warm hand was placed on his upper arm.  Mycroft opened his eyes.  The Inspector was so close.  “You’re shaking,” Greg said as he placed his free hand on Mycroft’s other arm.

Nothing could have stopped the government official from leaning into the warm, solid body in front of him.  Greg’s arms went around his shoulders and his hands slid onto his back, pulling him in closer.  Mycroft dragged in a labored breath as he relaxed in to the hug.  “Okay,” Greg murmured into his ear.  “You’re okay.  I’m here.  I’ll take care of you.  I’ll stay as long as you need me.”  The younger man felt his arms winding around this fascinating person to whom he’d felt inexplicably drawn for some time, grabbing handfuls of his shirt as his body was wracked with sobs.  Mycroft buried his head in Greg’s neck as he continued to whisper soothing words of comfort and support.  “That’s it.  Let it all out.  I’ve got you.  I promise it’s going to be okay.”

There were so many alien and disparate thoughts racing through Mycroft’s head, all clamoring for supremacy.  He was unaccustomed to being unsure of what to say.  Then again, he was hardly used to sobbing in anyone’s arms, let alone the most gorgeous, kind, compassionate and honorable man he’d ever met.  It was this thought that caused something to shift deep inside him.  Drawing in another shuddering breath, he was surprised when the sobs morphed in to what can only be described as giggles. Realizing he was likely experiencing a spike of manic euphoria after this emotional release, Mycroft strove for some measure of control. But when Greg began to wriggle about as Mycroft’s breath tickled the sensitive skin on his neck, the euphoria was replaced by a stab of desire.  Not wishing to reveal this to the Inspector, Mycroft stepped back with a sheepish grin.  “Apologies Inspector Lestrade.”

“None of that now,” Greg gently chided, his hands soothingly caressing the taller man’s arms.  “No way you could know my neck is absurdly sensitive.  Always has been.  Shoulders too.  When I was a kid, my mates were always teasing me about it, taking turns having a go.”  Realizing what he’d said, Greg’s eyes widened as his face turned a becoming dusky pink.  “And now I’m babbling.”  He shyly peered into Mycroft’s blue grey eyes, the pupils now blown wide open.  Stunned by what he saw in them, he murmured, “Always babble when I’m nervous.  Can’t stop myself, just word vomit all over myself.”

Mycroft’s eyebrows rose, his eyes twinkling with wonder and amusement.  “Word vomit?” he teased.

Greg’s eyes scrunched closed in embarrassment.  “Please forget I said that.”

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible Inspector.  Eidetic memory.”  Mycroft was more than a little surprised by how much he was enjoying this interlude.

“Just my luck,” Greg huffed self-deprecatingly, rolling his eyes.

There was a short. rather pregnant pause as they gazed into each other’s eyes, wondering if they could believe what they were seeing in the other.  Finally, Mycroft broke the silence.  “May I ask Gregory,” he broke off briefly as Greg’s smile grew wider hearing his name on the other’s lips.  “Why are you nervous?”

Greg tilted his head, fixing the politician with a mildly challenging expression.  “What do your otherworldly powers of observation tell you Mycroft?” he breathed.  One shapely brow arched in response.  “Go on then,” he provoked, his voice husky “deduce me Mr. Holmes.”

Mycroft gasped as his stomach flipped over at the unmistakably seductive tone of the policeman’s words and voice.  Although most agreeably astonished by this turn of events, he was equal to the challenge.  His own voice was noticeably deeper and quite breathless when he responded, “Your skin is flushed, your breathing has accelerated, your pupils are approximately seven times bigger than when you first arrived,” Mycroft brushed his fingertips over Greg’s wrist, “and your pulse has increased by thirty percent.”

“Only thirty?  Feels like a lot more,” Greg’s breath came out in a rush.  Striving for a bit more control, Greg drew in a deep breath and held it for a few moments before allowing it to slowly escape through his nose.  He had to force himself to refocus on his mission to see the other man fed a proper meal and make sure he got at least a few hours’ sleep before the shit show the next day would undoubtedly be.  Waiting on the beach of that godforsaken island while Eurus Holmes was returned to that damned cell, Greg realized that Mycroft’s ordeal was far from over.  He couldn’t imagine how Mycroft was going to manage telling his parents that he’d been deceiving them for close to thirty years.  It would be a monstrously stressful day and he’d need his strength.  He swallowed and took a small step forward and placed his left hand on the back of Mycroft’s neck. The man he’d been crushing on for years seemed entranced.  He pulled the other man’s face down gently and softly brushed his lips over Mycroft’s.  Bringing their foreheads together, he confessed, “I’ve wanted to do that for a very long time My.  And I really, really, _really_ want to do it again, but not before I’ve seen to your more immediate needs first.”  The DI took a small step back and said gently but firmly, “Shower, food, sleep, in that order.” 

 


	3. Kingdom Come

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg goes about fulfilling his promise while being a sexy mofo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for stopping by.

Mycroft was dreaming.  This could not possibly be happening to him.  Perhaps he’d simply lost his mind and he was hallucinating.  Or maybe his sister had succeeded in manipulating Sherlock in to shooting him and this was his heaven.  Anything was easier to believe than the small chance that any of this was real.  Dream Greg was looking at him closely now, concern clear to see in those velvety brown eyes.  He wondered, if this _was_ an hallucination, how long he could make it last.  Forever, he hoped.  He felt dream Greg’s strong hand caress his cheek.  “Are you still with me My?”

Mesmerized by the flow of heat from where dream Greg’s hands gently held him, he breathed, his voice sounding strange to his own ears.  “I’m not sure.  Am I?”

Greg blinked.  “What?”

“Am I with you?  Are you really here?  Are you real?”  His mind was so quiet and calm in heaven, free of the usual worry and strategizing and all those inconvenient, messy emotions.

“Yes My, I’m quite real.” Greg’s fingers slid into the hair above the nape of Mycroft’s exquisite neck.  “And I am most definitely here.”  As the politician continued to stare at him in an oddly removed way, Greg curled those fingers and tugged, not to inflict actual pain, but hopefully enough to bring Mycroft back from wherever he was drifting.

Greg saw the delayed reaction to the unexpected stimulus as Mycroft’s eyes slowly refocused.  Coming back to himself, the British Government immediately began retreating, embarrassed in a way that Greg found completely adorable.  He knew, however, that if Mycroft slipped behind the façade he showed the world now, he may never get another chance to be with the man behind the mask.  “Hey, please don’t do that My.  Please don’t hide from me.”

Mycroft struggled to overcome his instinct to revert to what he knew.  But he found he could not look away from Gregory’s eyes, peering into his pleadingly.  The trepidation Greg felt was clear to see.  Mycroft knew he would not, could not intentionally do anything to deepen the faint anguish detected in the Inspector’s voice.  He took a breath and smiled at the other man, the better to banish the worry that had begun to creep in to those cherished brown eyes.  Placing his hand over the sturdy one on his cheek, he pushed his long fingers between the policeman’s shorter, thicker digits and brought them to his lips.  Placing a soft kiss there he slid the knuckles along his lips, enthralled by the effect this had on the other man. 

Gregory drew in a ragged breath and felt his knees begin to buckle a bit.  Mycroft quickly wrapped his free arm around Greg’s waist and supported him until he regained his equilibrium.  The DI dropped his head on Mycroft’s sternum, taking a few deep breaths as slowly as he could, then swallowing very hard before stepping back out of the taller man’s reach.  As those elegant hands reached for him, he grabbed them and held them in his own.  “Mycroft, I’ve been daydreaming and fantasizing about you looking at me the way you are right now for a very long time, so please take me at my word.  You’ve been through a major trauma and that can manifest in a lot of ways.”

Mycroft looked at his hands held in Greg’s.  “You think I’m reacting from the shock,” his voice flat.

“I’m not saying you don’t mean it and I _really_ hope you do.  I promise, tomorrow, after you’ve gotten some rest, we can talk about this….whatever _this_ is.”  He grinned, feeling a bit more confident.  Greg stepped closer and tilted Mycroft’s face up to meet his gaze.  “Whatever this will become, _I need_ for it to start the right way. That’s all, I swear.  Now go, take a nice long hot shower and then get in bed.”  He pointed towards the wide staircase in the front of the house.

Mycroft smiled at him, reassured.  “Yes, Gregory,” he said meekly.  Still, he hesitated.  Greg quirked an eyebrow at him.  “You…will be up soon?”

“Yes, Myc.  I promise.  Listen, why don’t you use that app on your posh phone and pull up the security feed.  That way you’ll know where I am at all times.  Good enough?”  Mycroft nodded, wondering why he hadn’t thought of that himself.  Turning away, he drifted slowly and carefully up to his bedroom.  Taking his phone from the pocket of his suit jacket, he opened the app, only then realizing that he hadn’t re-activated the security system after letting Greg in.  Mildly shocked that this didn’t send him into a panic, he entered the appropriate codes and then pulled up the security feed from the kitchen. 

Watching Greg move about his kitchen finding pans and utensils while he was stripping down for his shower felt indulgent and a little bit wicked.  Starting the water to let it warm up he propped his phone safely on the wide ledge of the oversized tub before carefully stepping in.  The hot water was invigorating and he took his time with his ablutions, feeling some of the tension he’d been carrying around for so long wash away as well.  His thoughts drifted to the kindhearted, gentle man in his kitchen who had apparently been carrying a torch for him for years.  Surprises were very rare in Mycroft’s adult life, or they had been until quite recently, and the pleasant variety were virtually non-existent.  It was almost too much to contemplate, so Mycroft decided to set it aside for the remainder of the night.   He decided to spoil himself a little, stoppering the drain to let the tub fill.  He drizzled some relaxing essential oils kept nearby into the water and settled in for a soak while he watched the silver-haired man mixing and stirring and sautéing like a pro.  Simply enjoying this moment was a luxury for Mycroft. He slid down until only his head was above water.  The heat permeated his muscles and he gradually became aware that his eyelids were very heavy.   He closed his eyes and listened to the sounds of his breathing.  He might have drifted off if it weren’t for the presence of the scintillating DI downstairs. 

Sitting up slowly when the water had cooled, he pulled the plug and got to his feet, turning the shower on again for a minute to rinse off.  After thoroughly drying his refreshed skin, the man who sometimes ran the British government dithered a little deciding what to put on.  He settled on a plain pajama set in a color somewhere between dark grey and midnight blue that complemented both his pale skin and medium grey-blue eyes, smiling self-consciously at his desire to appear more attractive to the excessively alluring Detective Inspector.  A short time later, he settled back onto a wall of pillows, pulling the duvet to his waist.  He fiddled around on his phone for a little while as he waited for Lestrade to join him.  Checking the security feed again, he saw that the older man had found a serviceable tray and was assembling several items on it.  Mycroft smiled as he registered excitement at Gregory’s impending visit to his bedroom. 

Just a few minutes later he heard footsteps approaching.  He set his phone down and fussed with the bedclothes.  Mycroft had deliberately left the door open so Greg could enter easily with his hands full.  The steps slowed and stopped just outside the door.  “Mycroft?”  He called out softly.  “You decent?”

Smirking at the colloquialism, Mycroft replied honestly.  “Not for some time I’m afraid.  I am, however, adequately covered to spare your delicate sensibilities Inspector.”

Greg rolled his eyes at this deliberate taunting.  He stepped through the open doorway and carefully maneuvered the heavily laden tray past the door.  “Smart arse,” he muttered, only looking up from the tray when he cleared the door.  His hands gripped the tray until his knuckles turned white as he took in the vision of a freshly showered Mycroft sitting dead center in a massive bed, against a mountain of pillows, like royalty.  The DI’s steps faltered as his mouth went dry and he could only draw in a shallow breath through a suddenly constricted windpipe.  Feeling his face heat up, he closed his eyes for a few beats in an attempt to regain enough composure to safely deliver the full tray to Mycroft’s waiting lap.

 _Get a grip Lestrade.  Show some damn self-control_ , he berated himself silently.  Drawing on his considerable resources for dealing with demanding situations (usually grizzly crime scenes and an irritating but brilliant consulting detective) Greg quickly stepped over to the closest side of the enormous bed and gently placed the tray down somewhere near where Mycroft’s knees should be.  Yes, he’d chickened out on getting just that little bit closer to the befreckled gentleman who was watching him closely, the slightest suggestion of self-satisfaction in his eyes.  At least, he told himself, he managed to deliver the meal without embarrassing himself.  Small mercies.

Greg risked a peek at the younger man.  He was more than a little surprised to see that the smugness had vanished to be replaced by a most out of character shyness as Mycroft's gaze dropped away.  “Thank you for this Gregory.  You’re too kind.”

Greg’s cheeky grin could be heard as he responded.  “I’m just getting started, My.” 

Mycroft eyed the tray with some trepidation.  There was so much food.  Surely Gregory didn’t intend for him to eat all this.  He was about to issue a disclaimer but found there was no need.  “No babe, that’s not all for you.  There hasn’t been time to eat more than a soggy egg sandwich since mid-day yesterday, so I’ll be joining you if you don’t mind.  We’ll share!”

Mycroft’s mind had boggled a bit at the endearment but upon hearing that Greg would be staying, he revived.  Looking up at the vivacious man standing so close, he beamed.  “I should be delighted.”

“Brilliant!  I’m just going to pop into the ensuite for a bit.  Go ahead though, while it’s hot.  I’ll be back in two ticks.”  And with that the copper left him to sort out the wild mélange of his thoughts as he poured himself a delicious smelling cup of tea.  Those thoughts came to a screeching halt just a few seconds later as he heard the shower started.  Swallowing, Mycroft set the teapot down very slowly, trying but failing to not think about what was happening on the other side of the wall between the two rooms.  He concentrated on taking deep breaths and behaving like a man in his forties rather than a virginal teenage girl.


	4. Why is Rain So Comforting?

Closing the door of the ensuite behind him, Greg came to a standstill, his senses spellbound by the understated opulence surrounding him.  From the dark grey stone slabs covering the entire floor, to the oversized shower/bathtub combo unit across the room, to the tiled counter with two large sinks spanning one entire wall, to the side by side traditional commode and bidet and finally to the floor to ceiling recessed shelf unit housing a multitude of thick, fluffy pale grey towels.  To say nothing of the enticing aroma detected which hinted at soothing lavender as well as invigorating spruce.  Shaking his head to clear his beguiled thoughts, wanting to get back to Mycroft as quickly as possible, he set about unpacking a fresh set of loose, comfortable clothes from his backpack, as well as the few personal care products he’d remembered to grab during his whirlwind stop at his flat.  As he stripped, he took the time to carefully fold his jeans and long sleeved,  V-neck, dark blue jersey knit jumper, knowing that at some point Mycroft would visit his bathroom and see them resting at the end of the counter.  Stuffing his worn boxer briefs and socks in to a smaller compartment of his backpack, he registered that the floor was heated just before stepping in to the large shower.  Shamelessly helping himself to a bit of shampoo he scrubbed at his scalp.  Rinsing off, he then found a container of delicious smelling shower gel and squeezed a small amount in to his palm.  As he washed up, he eagerly eyed the large, deep bathtub adjacent to the shower.  It was not in his power to not imagine himself luxuriating inside it and it came as no surprise that he was not alone in that daydream.

Opting to focus on the present, the DI rinsed off and turned the shower off.  Stepping on to the deep pile of the large, fluffy white bathmat, he took up one of the impossibly soft towels and dried off, forcing himself not to rush, finally running the damp towel over his head to absorb the excess water.  Slinging the same towel around his waist he stepped off the soft bathmat and relished the warmth of the floor as he walked to one of the sinks.  Teeth brushed, he quickly donned clean pants and his newest pair of soft cotton sleep pants and his favorite old tee shirt.  Spying what looked to be a hamper at the bottom of the recessed shelves, he tossed the used towel in. 

Turning back to the mirror, Lestrade took one last deep breath while scanning his reflection.  Overall, he was more than happy with his appearance, middle age expansion included.  Being a Yarder gave him plenty of motivation to maintain his fitness level, so in spite of a bit of softening around the middle, his core was quite powerful.  He’d made his peace with his now mostly silver hair long ago.  Contrary to current scuttlebutt, Greg knew he was popular at NSY and was well aware of the reasons why.  Even more encouraging was his newfound awareness that Mycroft was not immune to his charms.  Staring into his own eyes he resolved again to give the younger man time to recover from this deeply disturbing chain of events before allowing anything more to happen between them. 

Turning, he padded to the door and hit the light switch.  The darkness was quickly dissipated by the subtle warm light from Mycroft’s bedroom as he opened the door and stepped through it.   He was happy to see that Mycroft had eaten a substantial portion of his veggie omelet as well as a couple slices of toast.  Not wanting to come across like a condescending berk, he made no mention of it.  “I hope you don’t mind that I just helped myself to your gorgeous ensuite.  I was beginning to feel like the layers of grime were permanent.”

Mycroft gazed up at him, bemused.  “Not at all Gregory.  You must help yourself to anything you need.”  His eyes fleetingly swept over Lestrade’s casually clad physique with barely concealed appreciation.  “I trust you’re feeling sufficiently refreshed?”

“God yes!  That shower is almost as big as my childhood bedroom!”  Greg tried to conceal how nervous he was feeling as he walked to the other side of the massive bed as if it was no big deal.  He pointed to it, asking, “Is this okay?”

“Please.” Mycroft gestured to the wide expanse on his left, striving to maintain a calm exterior as Greg carefully climbed up and crawled over to settle by the tray, his legs crossed.  Recalling himself, he offered praise for the delicious meal Greg had prepared. 

Greg offered a delighted grin.  “Thank you My.  Wait till you try my pot roast.  It’s so simple, but every bite is like a taste of heaven.”  With a saucy wink he began to tuck in to his own much delayed dinner with gusto, slathering extra butter onto his toast before transferring a hefty chunk of omelet on top, creating a makeshift sandwich.  It was dispatched in a trice, followed by a low groan of approval.

Mycroft was captivated by Greg’s hearty appreciation for this small repast.  Far from appearing ill mannered, he was the embodiment of manly vigor and vitality, unafraid to devour when hungry.  Inspired, Mycroft, followed Greg’s lead, taking another slice of toast and slathering it with butter, careless of the fat and calories. Greg beamed at him as he poured them both a cup of tea.  “Would you like to know a little secret Mycroft?” he began in a conspiratorial voice.  Those dulcet tones wakened a flock of butterflies in the politician’s mid-section and he could do little more than nod with anticipation as his own voice seemed to have been stolen by those winged creatures as they flew around, tickling his throat.  Cradling his mug, Greg sipped his tea before saying, “It gives me a lot of pleasure to see someone enjoying a meal I’ve prepared.  Even something as effortless as an omelet and some toast, a fresh pot of tea.  The way I see it, it’s like a gift I’m giving, and seeing that gift accepted and appreciated makes me very happy.”  The twinkle in his eyes might as well have been a sign saying ‘you have been well and truly played’.

As the fullness of the policeman’s guile unfolded, Mycroft was forced to concede that he was dealing with someone who was accustomed to being underestimated and did not scruple to take shameless advantage in obtaining his goal.  Fixing the clever man with his best diplomat’s face, he purred, “ _Very_ good Gregory.  Should you ever wish to change professions, do please let me know.  Someone with your particular skill set would surely be a most valuable asset.”

The two men eyed each other for a few moments before the silence was broken by Greg’s rumbly chuckle.  They focused on finishing their meal quietly, each turning their thoughts inward for a bit.  Leaving the last of the omelet for the DI, Mycroft savored several slices of fresh kiwi before settling back against his pillows, sighing contentedly.  “That was excellent.  My complements to the chef.”  He waited quietly for Greg to finish off the succulent fruit before reaching out to rest a hand lightly on the other man’s wrist.  “I’m feeling much better now.  I truly appreciate everything you’ve done for me tonight Inspector.  You were right of course, before you arrived I was wallowing, plaguing myself with self-recrimination.  Thank you for pulling me out of that miasma.”

Greg nodded.  “It’s understandable under the circumstances,” he said sympathetically.

“Perhaps.  But certainly not practical or productive.”

“Or healthy.”

Mycroft nodded a bit absently.  “I want you to know that I will be fine should you need…or wish to go.  You mustn’t feel like you have to keep such a close eye on me going forward.”

Greg wanted to make sure they understood each other.  “I know you don’t let many people get too close Myc and I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“I’m not.  Not at all.  I’m happy for you to stay as long as you can, truly.  I insist that you don’t neglect your own needs”

Greg grinned.  “I promise, I’m here because I want to be.  And we can talk about my needs all you like when you’re stronger.”  Mycroft smiled shyly.  “Now, how about I 86 this tray so you can get some shut eye.”   After moving the tray to the other side of the room, Greg helped Mycroft remove a few of the decorative pillows from the bed. 

“If it’s not asking too much, would you mind staying with me tonight?”

“It’s not and I definitely don’t.”  Returning to the far side of the bed, Greg tossed a few more pillows aside and climbed under the feather light duvet.  Settling down a small distance away from Mycroft, he closed his eyes and stretched his weary muscles as his companion removed a tablet from the small chest of drawers to the right of the bed. 

Turning back, Mycroft was overcome by the sight of the _“unreasonably attractive”_   Detective Inspector slowly raising both arms over his head, extending them to their fullest, grasping one wrist by the other hand, then carefully bending a bit first to his left, then right.  There were a few audible pops, followed by a low growl of appreciation that had Mycroft biting his bottom lip to keep himself from moaning aloud.  Detecting a bit of movement below the duvet, Mycroft knew that Greg was also stretching his legs while flexing both feet a few times.  Feeling a tad pervy for shamelessly ogling the other man, Mycroft was equally aware that he did not have the strength of will to stop.  Swallowing hard, he focused on controlling his breathing, as well as one or two additional physiological responses that were impossible to ignore, thankful for the generous duvet.  He was nearly undone a moment later when Greg brought his left leg up to his chest, lowering both arms to once again clasp his hands together under the knee, holding the stretch for several seconds, before extending the leg and repeating the entire process with his right leg. 

Mycroft did not know how long he was offline, but when he finally rebooted, he was met with the perceptive gaze of two impossibly deep, warm brown eyes.  The copper appeared slightly remorseful.  “Sorry Myc,” he breathed.  “I didn’t think.  I, uh, if I don’t stretch before I go to sleep, I’m likely to wake up with several muscles cramping simultaneously.”

Mycroft scrambled to reassure him.  “Gregory, please, you musn’t…that is…there is no… _difficulty.”_

Greg Lestrade believed flustered Mycroft was one of the most adorable sights he’d ever seen.  Although he said nothing, his soft smile easily conveyed his thoughts.  But he needed Mycroft relaxed enough to get some damn sleep, so a distraction was in order.   Glancing to the tablet in Mycroft’s hand, he asked, “What do you have there?”

Mycroft looked at the tablet as if he’d forgotten he was holding it.  “Oh, yes.  Gregory, I imagine you are familiar with the concept of white noise?”

“I think so.  A cousin stayed with us one summer years ago and he had a hard time sleeping until my mum put a fan in the room with us.”

Tapping the surface of the tablet, Mycroft said, “I also find that I can attain sleep more easily if I listen to something soothing.  There are actually several different colors of noise in the spectrum of human hearing.  What many people believe is white noise is actually closer to pink noise, although a fan does approximate white noise.  Many years ago, I began analyzing the different colors of noise to determine their respective effectiveness in a variety of situations.”  A moment later, the room filled with the sounds of gentle rainfall.  “To help me sleep, I find the sound of rain is the most efficacious.”

Greg listened attentively while silently congratulating himself for diverting the politician’s focus.  After listening for a few moments, he nodded.  “I’ve always loved waking up to the sound of rain, especially if I can have a nice lie in.  Somehow makes my bed seem even more comfortable, safe and warm.”

Mycroft placed the tablet on the nightstand and switched off the tasteful lamp.  He took a few moments to rearrange his pillows before stretching out.  Greg waited until he was settled before rolling over to turn the matching lamp off on his side of the bed.  Turning back, he let the comforting sounds wash over him.  “Why _is_ rain so comforting?”

He could hear the change in Mycroft’s voice when he responded.  “One theory is that it is similar to the sound of being in the womb.”

“Seriously?”

Mycroft shifted to face the policeman.  “That is a theory, yes.”

Greg considered this for a bit.  “Well, I guess that sort of makes sense.”

Several minutes passed and Greg thought Mycroft had probably dropped off, but then he spoke.  “Thank you for coming and for helping me.”

Greg smiled sleepily.  “Thank you for letting me.”

Another minute went by before Mycroft murmured, “Good night Gregory.”

“Good night Mycroft.  Sweet dreams.”

 


	5. A Deal is Struck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after the night before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next few chapters will likely be a bit shorter so I can (hopefully) get them to you faster. Thanks to everyone who has read, kudo-ed or commented.

The remainder of the night passed relatively quietly.  A few hours before sunrise, Greg was jostled awake.  Mycroft was asleep but clearly in the throes of an unpleasant dream.  Not wishing to wake him, Greg shuffled to lay directly next to the younger man and carefully ran a hand along the arm closest to him.  He murmured soft reassurances that Mycroft was safe, encouraging him to relax.  After a few minutes, the politician settled again and Greg slowly rolled him closer, winding one arm loosely around his shoulders.  Mycroft’s hand came to rest on his chest and Greg placed his free hand on top, praising him for being so good and telling him that he was not going to have any more bad dreams that night.  It was a technique he’d employed with his children when they had troubling dreams and seemed to work at least some of the time.  After listening to Mycroft’s breathing even out, Greg let sleep claim him again quickly.

_Everything was happening too slowly.  As Sherlock held the gun out to him, the desperate man pleaded for his own life to be taken.  He stared at the gun but knew he could not do it.  The man begged him, his voice distraught.  He refused.  His sister’s voice was heard over a speaker but her words were gibberish.  The man reassured him.  He would be saving the life of the man’s wife.  He stepped back, refusing to kill.  Sherlock turned to Dr. Watson.  The ex-army man took the gun.  Had the man kneel, spoke in his ear.  Held the gun to his head.  Pulled the trigger.  But the body lying there in an expanding pool of blood was no longer the man but his baby brother and now he was standing over him, the gun still in his hand._

_The man begged him.  His sister kept taunting them.  Again and again he refused to take the gun and again and again, Sherlock was felled by his own hand._

_The voice changed.  It was a man’s voice now, a voice he recognized.  A voice he admired.  At first he couldn’t understand what the man was saying.  He watched his brother die so many times.  Each time the sequence of events varied but the result was always the same.  The voice kept talking.  It was soothing.  The man faded in to the shadows.  Sherlock, Dr. Watson and the gun were beyond the fading light.  The remaining light dimmed until he was in the dark.  He was warm and safe._  

Mycroft woke slowly.  Gradually he became aware that he was in his own bed, lying next to someone, his head resting on one shoulder.  His senses told him who it was.  He was in Gregory’s arms and he could not remember, as an adult, ever feeling safer or happier.  He knew this interlude would be brief but just then the future did not hold any interest for him.  His sole focus was on the man next to him, his scent, his strength, his breathing.  A small portion of his considerable observational skills were tasked with burning this moment into his memory while the vast majority of his consciousness was permitted simply to revel in the sensations of being held by this man.

Slowly the light in the room changed as night led to the dawn of a new day.  Mycroft felt when Gregory’s breathing changed, thrilled when the arm encircling his shoulders pulled him closer.  The British Government felt decidedly wicked as he slid his hand along the copper's firm pectorals then down over the slight softness of his belly, coming to curl possessively around his left hip.   Gregory hummed appreciatively.  “Someone’s feeling better,” he rumbled, his voice rough with sleep. 

Mycroft’s lips twitched slightly before murmuring, “That, Inspector, is an understatement roughly commensurate with the size of America’s Grand Canyon.”  For which pronouncement the politician was promptly rewarded with the most delicious and, to his mind, sensual chuckle ever to have passed anyone’s lips. 

Greg ran his hand down and up Mycroft’s back a few times, partly because he was unable to stop himself and partly to keep from doing something considerably bolder.  “I’m glad to hear it.”  Opening his eyes, he was happy to see that the room was not yet bathed in bright sunshine, indicating there was still time before they had to prepare to face the trials this day would bring.  He hesitated to ask his next question, but avoiding it wouldn’t change anything.  “So you slept okay?” 

The minute tensing of the body next to his, as well as the hesitation before responding spoke volumes.  “Reasonably well.”

It wasn’t his intention to push Mycroft into divulging something if he wasn’t ready, but equally he wanted to reassure this man that he didn’t have to hide the truth.  “You had a bad dream.”

The silence this time lasted a bit longer as Mycroft processed, quickly drawing the correct conclusion.  “I woke you?  My apologies, Gregory, for disturbing your sleep.” 

The diplomat began to pull away, which was definitely not the result Greg was after.   He brought his hand back to Mycroft’s shoulder, holding him gently but firmly.  “No, now, none of that.  I’m here with you because this is where I want to be.  You’re going to be dealing with the emotional fallout of that ordeal for a while.   It’s not surprising that your subconscious is affected.  And anyway, it really wasn’t that bad.  Only took about ten minutes to get you settled again.” 

Mycroft finally met his gaze.  “Truly?”

“Cross my heart.  I honestly want to help you any way I can.  But you have to let me My.” 

Mycroft nodded.  “I want to, I really do.  It’s just…” he trailed off uncertainly.  Greg waited patiently.  Mycroft absently ran his thumb back and forth on Greg’s side.  “I’m a solitary man Gregory.  It will be an adjustment for me.   One that won’t happen quickly.”

“That’s okay, just please don’t shut me out or hold back if you need to talk or yell or cry or whatever because you’re worried about how I’ll react.”

Mycroft was slightly stunned by the quiet reassurance he saw in the other man’s gaze.  He offered a diffident smile and leaned up to brush his lips tenderly against Gregory’s full mouth.  “I promise I will do my best.”  Gregory’s resulting smile could rival the sun and Mycroft marveled that he was the cause as he basked in its warmth. 

 


	6. A Little Flashback

The two men snuggled together lazily for as long as they could, each pleasantly stupefied by all that had occurred between them during the last eight hours.  Greg had been (more than) slightly terrified showing up at Mycroft’s home unannounced and uninvited, having never been there before.  Approaching the door, he half expected armed guards to swoop in and cart him away, leaving the groceries spilled on the pavement.  In spite of his super double secret crush, he and Mycroft had rarely had any dealings that weren’t to do with Sherlock in some way.  Taking that step had been utterly unprecedented. 

Over the years, his impression of Mycroft had slowly built up in to something almost monolithic.  At times Sherlock’s brother had seemed to him carved from a single large slab of flawless Pentelic marble, pale and ethereal, beyond aloof and thoroughly inapproachable.  The DI had only been exposed to what the older Holmes brother did obliquely.  He had instinctively surmised not long after their initial meeting that Mycroft’s “job” was more of a calling and had nothing to do with earning a living.  Greg was a straightforward man, not given to denial or self-delusion and could easily acknowledge that he had been a bit intimidated upon meeting Mycroft, mysteriously materializing at a crime scene one night with a small cadre of creepy blokes who silently went about corralling a tall, skinny kid, clearly off his tits, babbling about the victim and the imbecility of the DI in charge of the investigation.

Tasked with keeping the looky-loos and thrill-seekers out of the area cordoned off by crime scene tape, DC Lestrade had been intrigued by the lone man who appeared to be a cross between a ghost and a junkie.  There was something compelling about him and Greg had listened to his rambling surreptitiously because the pale young man was correct in his assessment of the person leading the investigation.  He had been assigned to old Winslow’s team for six months and knew him to be jaded, lazy and feckless.  When the lad was unceremoniously “helped” into a black car with opaque black windows, Greg had been about to intervene when suddenly a tall bloke in a bespoke three piece suit had stepped in front of him.

“Good evening Detective Constable.  Please allow me to apologize for my brother.  His predilection for solving puzzles oftentimes gets the better of him.” Greg had taken a step back, having been caught off guard by the suave man’s sudden appearance.  Although they were nearly the same height, Greg had the impression that this stranger towered over him a bit.  Months later, after several subsequent unplanned encounters, he would become a bit fixated on the enigmatic man’s ability to project such a subtle but unmitigated sense of dominance and power.  

After a moment, Greg’s copper instincts took over.  “He seems to know quite a bit about what happened here.  We may need to bring him in for questioning.”  He removed a small notepad and pen from a pocket of his uniform jacket, determined to at least get a name.

Although outwardly the other man’s expression seemed frozen and implacable, the air between them suddenly seemed charged with something veering toward dangerous.  Certainly it was off-putting when the besuited man squared his shoulders and responded, “I assure you that won’t be necessary Detective Lestrade.”

Setting aside the mild trepidation he felt at hearing his name come from this man he was certain he’d never been introduced to, spoken to or laid eyes on prior to that moment, Greg called on his training to maintain eye contact and keep his voice even as he queried, “And you are?”

There was a long moment during which the DC knew he was being silently assessed most thoroughly.  He waited patiently, pen poised over pad, knowing his professional neutrality was his greatest asset just then.  It was screamingly obvious that the other man was not accustomed to being questioned, but since Lestrade had no idea who he was, he could hardly be expected to treat him with any more deference than any other stranger.   Whatever the other man saw in him must have been sufficient to result in a relatively positive, if begrudging answer.  “My name is Mycroft Holmes.  You are Detective Constable Gregory Lestrade, age 31.  You have been a part of the Operational Command Unit for six months and five days.  You were married seven years ago, your wife is resentful of the time required to pursue your goal of ascending to Detective Inspector in three to five years.  You married due to an unplanned pregnancy.  The person responsible for the crime committed here this evening is a co-worker of the victim’s older sister, the sister being very happily married and uninterested in the advances of said co-worker.  This man subsequently transferred his unwanted attentions onto the unmarried younger sister who has occasionally been mistaken as her twin.  When she also rebuffed this man, he snapped.  Surely that’s enough to be going on with?”

Although he had felt his face heating up at the mention of his wife’s dislike of his career goals and the reason for their hasty marriage, Greg didn’t allow himself to be distracted.  He dropped his eyes to the paper briefly to jot down “sister’s co-worker?” before returning his gaze to the subtly challenging regard of Mycroft Holmes.  “The Metropolitan Police thanks you for providing information which may result in solving this crime.”  He had quite deliberately kept his voice lackluster with just a tinge of snark.  It was a calculated risk, but one he was happy to take if it resulted in a less polished reaction. 

He was not disappointed as he saw an approving light creep in to the slightly taller man’s eyes.  He even heard the very beginning of what could be characterized as an appreciative chuckle before it was ruthlessly quashed.  The other man covered by humming speculatively before murmuring “ _Very_ good Detective.  Now, if there’s nothing else, I really must be getting on.”  Again, his words held a clear challenge.

Undeterred, Greg pressed on.  “You say that bloke is your brother.  Can you prove that?”

There was another extended pause, before, without turning around, he held out his hand, into which one of the unnamed minions silently placed two small articles which were then perfunctorily held out to the police man for inspection.  Sliding the notepad and pen into his pocket, Lestrade accepted the offerings.  Held side by side were two standard issue driver’s licenses, one for Mycroft Holmes, age 26, and one for Sherlock Holmes, age 19.  He’d returned the documents and watched as the posh man disappeared into the posh car. 

This was the first of many such encounters with one or the other Holmes, occasionally both, over the next two years.  Sometimes this Sherlock fellow was clearly under the influence, sometimes not.  It was during some of his more lucid moments that Greg began to draw him out and see glimpses of his extraordinary potential.  But these instances seemed to also be tinged with a darkness the younger man was both afraid of and drawn to.  Greg’s initial attempts to steer him away from the escapism of drugs and other reckless choices were met either with derision or a sort of tortured pity.  The troubled relationship between the brothers was another source of frustration for Greg, as was the knowledge that he was a bit attracted to Mycroft Holmes.  Although his marriage wasn’t what he’d expected, he was determined to keep his vows. 

With diligence, hard work and not a little sacrifice, Greg was promoted to Detective Sergeant within eighteen months.  The same day that Winslow had told him that he was retiring and that Foster was moving up to Detective Inspector and wanted him as his second in command, he’d been waylaid by Mycroft in the same posh car with a proposition for him.  The mysterious man knew of his promotion and was willing to make it worth his while to allow his younger brother on some of his cases.  Greg sincerely wanted to help Sherlock, was slightly offended by the implication he could be bribed and certainly wasn’t prepared to risk his career.  He agreed to let Sherlock look at some cold case files but only if he stayed clean and _only_ if Mycroft promised not to do anything in return.  A year later, Sherlock was still clean and had assisted Greg in solving several cold cases as well as a few active investigations DI Foster had let him lead.  Sherlock insisted his participation be kept strictly between the two of them and Mycroft, happy that Sherlock was more stable, mostly left them alone. 

Greg’s stroll down memory lane was interrupted when Mycroft’s phone chirped.  Knowing this moment had to come, he stoically rolled over to retrieve it.  “Anthea has arranged for the delivery of additional groceries in twenty minutes.” 

Nodding, Greg sat up.  “Okay, I guess we better get to it.”  He moved a bit stiffly to the other side of the bed and offered Mycroft a hand up.  “Listen, why don’t you take your time getting ready, I’ll deal with the tray from last night and put the kettle on for tea.”

Mycroft squeezed his hand, relieved he was there.  “Thank you so much Gregory.”

Greg stepped closer and put his arms around the younger man.  “I know that this day is going to be really hard for you Mycroft.  Please just remember that you’re not alone now.  If it gets to be too much, say the word and I’ll…do something brilliant.”

Allowing himself this moment, Mycroft rested his forehead on Greg’s shoulder.  “Your being here means so very much to me.”

 

 


	7. Necessary Evil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg learns some things about the other one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year everyone! Thank you all so much for reading and commenting. I hope 2018 brings all of us lots of happiness and many wonderful new fics! This chapter is shorter than what I usually shoot for, but it came to a natural stopping point. Plus, shorter chapters are a bit easier. 
> 
> Tackling this post series story, there are some anomalies that are tricky. One of the main areas of confusion for me is what ever happened to the real therapist that Eurus was masquerading as? At the end of TLD, Eurus clams she's in a second floor airing cupboard (or something like that) and then she supposedly shoots John with a tranquilizer gun, as mentioned by Sherlock near the beginning of TFP. If her body was in a closet, wouldn't it have been found? Wouldn't someone, probably DI Lestrade, have been called in to investigate? If that happened, Mycroft would have known about it and learned (probably) about Eurus getting off the island before that prank Sherlock and john played on him. To me, this is a pretty glaring omission by Moftiss. In any case, I've given this poor woman a full name. On IMDB.com, she is listed only as Elizabeth.

Almost exactly twenty minutes later Greg met Anthea at the entrance connecting a pristine “mud room” to the large garage, accessible only through a secure gated driveway at the southwest corner of the property.  Two scary looking blokes filed in behind her, each carrying multiple disposable covered trays presumably housing their brunch buffet.  “Good morning, Detective Inspector.”

“Morning,” Greg murmured distractedly, suddenly self-conscious, as the two large men continued past, clearly having been instructed to deliver the trays to the kitchen silently.  Returning his gaze to the formidable woman stood off to the side, he found himself being quietly assessed. 

“Follow me please.”  Anthea strode through the door and Greg found himself following obediently, certain he was about to be thoroughly threatened by this intimidating figure.  She led the way and soon the two were enclosed in what appeared to be a home office.  Anthea entered a code into the panel next to the door before turning to face him.  “I’ve activated the soundproofing.  We can speak freely.  I’ve been authorized to provide you with as much information as has been compiled so far, which frankly, isn’t a lot.  I was able to pry a bit more detail from Sherlock this morning.  I should warn you, he is aware that Mycroft intends to meet with his parents shortly.  I suspect he and Dr. Watson will be here very soon.”  Greg blinked at her, nonplussed.  “Are you with me Inspector?”

A bit startled, Greg shook himself.  Get it together mate, Mycroft needs you now.  “Yes!  Sorry, yes.  Thank you.  Anything you can tell me will help.”

She nodded.  “You should sit.  Some of what you are about to hear is quite shocking.  I’m sorry to throw all this at you at once, but needs must I’m afraid.”

Swallowing to combat his suddenly dry mouth, Greg carefully turned to sink into one of the sturdy armchairs in front of the impressive but immaculate desk centered along the wall behind him.  As Anthea quietly assumed the second chair, turning it slightly, Greg repositioned himself to face her.  Over the next five minutes, Greg was given a brief history of how the youngest Holmes had been incarcerated at a very young age, and why.  He learned that until a few days ago, Sherlock had had no memory of his sister and, more importantly, why. 

Anthea paused, causing Greg to focus on her face once more.  Her usual edifice of unshakable professionalism was wavering.  Her voice was tinged with resentment when she added, "Apparently Mycroft was the only one who saw the danger his sister posed, even at a young age.  He tried to convince his parents that she presented a serious threat to the entire family .  His concerns were dismissed until she set fire to the manor house.  Sherlock and his parents survived due only to Mycroft's vigilance." 

Anthea continued, her tone reflecting her own frustration at the reality they were all now facing.  "Eurus was taken away and it was decided that the family be told she was killed when she set another fire at the facility where she was being held.  In truth, she was moved to Sherrinford where her Uncle Rudy oversaw her incarceration.  When he was 22, Mycroft was informed of the truth.  His uncle's health was failing so Mycroft was trained to take over.  Sherlock had buried his memories of both his sister and his friend so deeply that Mycroft chose to maintain the fiction.  He knew there was nothing to be gained by exposing his parents to the truth.  Eurus was beyond help.  And it would have caused Sherlock, already struggling with incipient drug addiction, to spiral out of control.  He’s kept that secret for more than two decades."  Taking a moment to give the police man time to assimilate this before continuing to more recent events, Anthea stood and crossed to a small refrigerator, removing a bottle of water.  Greg accepted it gratefully, guzzling nearly the entire thing in one go. 

"In spite of Mr. Holmes’ strict instructions, Eurus somehow managed to manipulate one of her guards.  We don’t know when this occurred but it was likely some time ago.  This guard was manipulated into compromising several of the other guards, who then essentially staged a coup.  Everyone else on that island whose job it was to keep her secure were subjected to her influence.  Apparently Eurus has been able to leave the island several times.  According to Sherlock, she was able to masquerade as Culverton Smith’s daughter Faith…as well as Dr. Elizabeth Shaw, John Watson’s therapist.”

“Oh God.”  Greg felt faint knowing that this psychopath had had ample opportunity to wreak havoc on the lives of some of the people he cared most about with impunity.

“Quite.” 

“Please tell me she’ll never get out again,” he breathed, knowing it was probably impossible to promise.

A look of determination crossed the exquisite features of the woman sat across from him.  “Not if I have anything to say about it,” she growled, her voice grim.

Greg steeled himself and asked the question he really didn’t wish to know the answer to.  “What the hell happened on that island?”  Ten minutes later Greg stared at his wan reflection in the mirror of the downstairs bathroom.  There hadn’t been much in his stomach, but he’d lost it upon hearing about the twisted games Eurus had designed to manipulate her brothers, using John Watson and poor Molly Hooper against them.  He’d rinsed his mouth and carefully sipped water from the tap, attempting to calm his turbulent emotions.  Blinking away tears, he took several deep, controlled breaths, counting out the seconds in his head.  Mycroft needed his strength now and he was going to give it freely.  There would be time to fall apart later.

 

 


	8. Before the Siege

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg, Anthea and Mycroft get ready.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I decided to add a few years to Mycroft's age when he learned that Eurus was still alive. So he's been keeping the secret from his family for about 24 years rather than over thirty years.

Stepping out of the bathroom, Greg moved toward the back of the house.  He found Anthea in the kitchen, making a fresh pot of coffee.  Turning, she looked at him for a few moments before wordlessly crossing to one of the pale wood cupboards.  When she returned, she handed him a small stack of saltines.  “Eat these.”

He eyed them warily.  “What are they?”

“Saltine crackers from the colonies.  Mycroft orders them from America Food Store.”

“And why am I eating them?”

“Eat them and find out.” Although her words were a bit brusque, her eyes were twinkling.

Shrugging, Greg munched on a cracker absently.  “Has Mycroft come down yet?”

Anthea nodded.  “He’s in his office.”

Greg’s brows creased a bit.  “He’s not _working_.”  Although it was meant as a statement, it came out more as a request for confirmation.  Knowing he couldn’t just go get him, Greg was hard pressed to wait for her response.

Anthea rested against the counter.  Deciding to keep Greg as up to date as she possibly could, she motioned for him to join her.  “He’s on a call with Lady Smallwood.”  Greg lifted his eyebrows, needing a bit more.  Anthea lowered her voice.  “He _has_ to be debriefed Greg.  It’s critical.  The situation with Eurus is much too dangerous to be left without some additional safeguards in place.  Mycroft is the only person alive who has successfully interacted with her and not been utterly compromised.”

Greg closed his eyes, feeling more than a little helpless.  “He may not be _utterly_ compromised,” he bit out, the fear and concern he felt for the younger man coloring every word, “but he certainly isn’t _unaffected_ by everything that’s happened.”

When no response was forthcoming, he opened his eyes.  Anthea was looking at him, frozen.  Her voice was soft but grave when she breathed.  “I am aware.”

In spite of his own anxiety over this clusterfuck of a situation, Greg relented.  “Sorry.  That wasn’t fair.”

“Fuck fair.”  This time Greg heard the fury currently coursing through her.  “Nothing about this shit show is fair.  Tell me right now if I can count on you Lestrade.  It’s just you and me and Lady Smallwood doing what we can for him.  She insisted Mycroft be permitted time to deal with his family and this is the compromise. This isn’t going to be easy or quick.  It’s been over twenty years Greg.  He has to tell his parents he’s been deliberately deceiving them about their own child, their only daughter for his entire adult life.  You’re a father.  How would you feel?  It doesn’t matter why and it won’t matter that it was more for them and Sherlock than anyone else.  No matter how they take it, he will blame himself for all of it as if he is somehow responsible for his psychopath sister.” 

More shaken than before, Greg pushed his own anxieties away, something he had plenty of practice doing.  “You can.  Count on me.”  His commitment and determination infused his words and his whole being.  This is what was needed now.  He didn’t bother with trying to apologize again because he knew Anthea neither wanted nor needed one.  Greg met her glare silently, hiding nothing.

After a minute, Anthea relaxed, just a little.  “Good.  Eat your crackers.”  She turned away to prepare a cup of coffee for herself before asking, “Can you handle a bit more?”   

Greg nodded.  “Anything you think I should know, tell me.”

“Eurus has been in a medically induced coma for 13 hours.  The specialist who is overseeing her care can only keep her down for a few weeks. This is Mycroft’s contingency plan, activated by Lady Smallwood the moment Eurus was recovered.  A specialized team of caregivers, all deaf by the way, will see to her needs until a long term plan can be implemented.  No one, not even Mycroft, knows yet what that will entail.  He will push himself to devise something thoroughly incorruptible because he knows that if he can’t come up with a workable solution, no one can.  And if he can’t, Lady Smallwood will activate the final failsafe.”

Staring at a spot on the floor, Greg repeated, “Final failsafe.”

“It’s exactly what it sounds like.  Eurus will be given a choice between NMD and death.  The clock’s already ticking.”

Greg didn’t have to ask what NMD was.  It had been discussed as a possible treatment for his youngest niece who suffered from extreme anxiety and bouts of deep depression from a young age.  Now in her early twenties, Julia was learning to manage her condition as well as studying to be a neuropsychologist with a subspecialty in nutrition.  While pharmacology, therapy and surgery were still the prevailing wisdom in the treatment of psychological disorders, Jules had personal knowledge that her own issues had been greatly exacerbated by consumption of processed foods.  Implementing her own dietary restrictions had quickly mitigated the worst of her disorder and careful supplementation of specific vitamins and minerals had brought even more relief.  Greg made a mental note to contact her as soon as he could.  He didn’t know if it would help Mycroft save his sister, but if certainly couldn’t hurt.  Avoiding that failsafe would help Mycroft immeasurably. 

Taking a deep breath, Greg looked at Anthea.  “Thank you for telling me.”  He looked around.  “So what’s the plan, then?”

“The car will be here in about fifteen minutes.  Sherlock and Dr. Watson are due any time.  We’ll set the buffet out after everyone has arrived.  After everyone’s had a chance to eat, Mycroft will break the news to his parents.  I’ll see to everyone else and you’ll take care of Mycroft.  Can you handle that?”

“Yeah, I can handle that,” Greg murmured, praying that he wouldn’t be shut out.  He could deal with anything but that.  And he was prepared to do almost anything to ensure that didn’t happen.  Thinking ahead, he tried to envision the moments leading up to the revelation that could possibly tear Mycroft’s family to pieces for good.  “So where is this happening?”

Anthea shrugged.  Not good enough, Greg decided.  He took a whirlwind tour of the ground floor, checking the formal dining room (too cold), the library (better, but not big enough for everyone to be comfortable), and a pristine sitting room full of antiques (not inviting), ending at a more relaxed room with huge comfortable looking chairs and two large sofas just off the kitchen.  There was a fireplace on the far wall and a double set of doors opening out onto a large terrace and a massive, well-tended garden.  “Yeah, this’ll work.”  He returned to the kitchen where Anthea was preparing a pot of tea.  “Can I go out without setting off any alarms?” 

She picked up her phone and entered a code.  “You can now.”

“Are those two blokes gone?”

“They’re still here.”

“Brilliant.  Send them out to me.  We’ll eat out on the terrace.”

Sending a message, Anthea said. “That’s a good idea Greg.”

“Thanks.  Is there any firewood available?”

“There’s a small supply here and if we need more I can have some delivered in fifteen minutes.”

Greg nodded.  “Do it.  I want a fire going in that sitting room and in the library.  Does Mycroft have any fireplaces upstairs?”

“Yes, in a small study adjacent to his bedroom,” Anthea replied, already arranging for a substantial delivery of firewood.

“Okay, that’s good.  If possible, have the delivery people get small fires going in all three rooms and load up those bins.  Also, let’s get some bracing drinks choices distributed to all three rooms.  Let’s deal with the coming fallout head on with everything we’ve got at our disposal.  If Mr. and Mrs. Holmes agree to stay, it would be good to give them a place to be alone for a while.  They can take the library.  If Sherlock and John want to stay, they can use the sitting room.”  Greg turned to step outside, but stopped. “Do you know if they’ll have Rosie with them?”

“I would be surprised if John agreed to let her out of his sight for the next fortnight.”

Considering this, Greg conceded, “Right.  Well, at least he and Sherlock will be forced to focus on someone besides themselves.”

Stepping up to him, Anthea grinned, “I like the way you think.”

He grinned back, relieved to have an ally.  “I’m glad to hear it.  You know this place pretty well, right?”

“Every inch of it.”

“Good, can you air out a couple of guest bedrooms?  John will need a place to put Rosie down for a nap and it would be good to have a place Mycroft’s parents can rest if they need it.”

“I’m on it.”

“Right.  Meet you back here in five.”

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Mycroft sat staring out the window of his office for several minutes after completing the call with Alicia Smallwood.  He was grateful that she’d arranged to conduct the initial debriefing over the phone.  After the others had left the call, she’d asked him how he was doing.

“As well as can be expected.”

There was a long pause before she spoke again.  “Have you told you parents about Eurus yet?”

“That is the very next thing on my agenda.  They shall arrive here any minute in fact.”  Mycroft heard the brittleness of his own voice.

“I see.  In that case, I won’t keep you much longer.  I’ll contact you in two days to schedule a follow up meeting.  I don’t want to hear from you until then.  Well, unless Protocol 23 is enacted or that American imbecile tries to start a nuclear war before then, I should say.”

“You have my recommendation if the latter should occur.”

“I do indeed.  I’ll give the order myself if need be.”

“I appreciate that Alicia.”

“Take care of yourself Mycroft.  That’s an order.  As difficult as all this has been and will be for your family, we still need you.  Never think otherwise.”

It took the unflappable Mycroft Holmes a few moments to swallow the lump in his throat.  “I…thank you.  I shall owe you a great deal after this.”

“Well.  We can talk about that later.  This is none of my business my dear boy, but…I hope you are not trying to get through this on your own.”

Considering his response carefully, Mycroft answered as candidly as he felt comfortable with.  “Anthea has been most helpful, of course.”

“She is a treasure, to be sure, but it is her job to provide you with assistance.  I was hoping their might be someone looking after your more personal needs at this difficult time.”

For the first time in what felt like hours, Mycroft allowed his meticulously crafted persona to slip a little.  The developments of the previous night were still so surprising (and wonderful) that he scarcely knew how to feel about them, much less how to respond to such a personal inquiry.  Still, there was no denying that the mere thought of Gregory’s presence in his home at the moment was an immeasurable boon to his wellbeing.  “There is.  At least for now.”

The words were out and he could not take them back.  Nor did he wish to.  He blinked back a few tears of shock and relief.  “I’m glad to hear it.  You deserve to be happy my friend.  Please do pass on my greetings to your parents.  And tell that brother of yours to stay out of trouble for at least the next fortnight or it will not go well for him.”

“I shall convey such to him at the appropriate time.”

“Forty eight hours Mycroft and not one moment sooner.”

“Until then.”

Feeling as if he’d been run over by a pack of wild horses, Mycroft slowly made his way to the kitchen in search of tea and comfort, not necessarily in that order.  Arriving there, he discovered it to be quite empty of inhabitants.  Blinking rapidly for a few moments, he proceeded to prepare a bracing pot of tea for himself.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Protocol 23 is in case of alien (as in extra terrestrial) invasion. The American imbecile is the current president. I leave it to you to figure out what order Alicia Smallwood would give if he attempted to start a nuclear war.


	9. A Calm Surface

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The calm before the storm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is quite short, but perhaps I can update quicker in smaller chunks. Thanks to all who are hanging in and offering kudos or comments.

_Feeling as if he’d been run over by a pack of wild horses, Mycroft slowly made his way to the kitchen in search of tea and comfort, not necessarily in that order.  Arriving there, he discovered it to be quite empty of inhabitants.  Blinking rapidly for a few moments, he proceeded to prepare a bracing pot of tea for himself._

The familiar ritual helped to ground him.  He knew Greg and Anthea were somewhere making everything ready for the arrival of his family.  He felt oddly detached, not particularly caring about the details.  His mind and body were already bracing for the meeting ahead.  Now that the moment was almost upon him, his need to simply reveal the whole awful truth was growing exponentially.  Although mistakes had been made, he did not regret the decision, so long ago, to spare his brother from the revelations that would have destroyed the fragile peace he had crafted for himself. 

As a young man, he had agonized over how to proceed after learning the truth.  His uncle had been adamant that the falsehood be perpetuated.  Mycroft had not made his decision until returning to his parents’ home a few months after his first visit to Sherrinford.  He had thought he would be unable to deceive them and that the truth would come tumbling out.  His father had gently described to him, during a heartbreaking phone call, how Sherlock had somehow repressed all memory of Eurus and further, seemed convinced that Redbeard had been his beloved Irish Setter.  It wasn’t until Mycroft had returned home for Sherlock’s eleventh birthday that he saw how completely his memories had altered.  After speaking with his brother, carefully probing, alert for any indication that Sherlock had created an elaborate ruse, Mycroft accepted that his brother truly had no memory of their murderous sibling.  There was no power on Earth strong enough to compel Mycroft to dispel the myth by revealing the truth.  He felt it necessary to keep Eurus’ continued existence from his mother and father because they would never be able to hide it from Sherlock.  Their complicit acceptance of Sherlock's revised memories was all the justification he needed at the time.

Now that Sherlock had remembered that horrible time, when Victor Trevor had disappeared, there was no need to maintain the lie any longer.  Mummy would be furious of course. Hypercritical and unforgiving.  Perhaps, in the end, his choice had been unforgivable.  He honestly didn’t know.  Now he would face them and find out.

Greg had been watching silently from the doorway as Mycroft prepared and drank a cup of tea on autopilot.  There was no outward show of emotion.  As surely as a calm surface hides strong currents bellow, he knew that the younger man was deep in thought, mentally preparing for the confrontation to come.  The careful, precise movements were both a comfort and a shield.  Summoning his own determination to provide whatever shelter he could, he stepped quietly in to the room and went about making himself a bracing cup of very strong coffee. 

His gentle movements allowed Mycroft to surface slowly, setting aside his memories in favor of these last few minutes alone with this remarkable man.  Greg joined him at the sturdy table and they sat together, simply appreciating the closeness of the other and the quiet.


End file.
